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The Academy of American Poets is the largest membership-based nonprofit organization fostering an appreciation for contemporary poetry and supporting American poets. For over three generations, the Academy has connected millions of people to great poetry through programs such as National Poetry Month, the largest literary celebration in the world; Poets.org, the Academy’s popular website; American Poets, a biannual literary journal; and an annual series of poetry readings and special events. Since its founding, the Academy has awarded more money to poets than any other organization.

She and I on a bench eating prawns:
the first day of her fiftieth year and she points
at two street performers about to juggle
fire, and a distant summer morning
surfaces, afloat on the light wind blowing
off the bay—older sisters in the dark, hiding
as big brother parades around the house
his hands

Never give all the heart, for loveWill hardly seem worth thinking ofTo passionate women if it seemCertain, and they never dreamThat it fades out from kiss to kiss;For everything that's lovely isBut a brief, dreamy, kind delight.O never give the heart outright,For they

What have I to say to you
When we shall meet?
Yet—
I lie here thinking of you.
The stain of love
Is upon the world.
Yellow, yellow, yellow,
It eats into the leaves,
Smears with saffron
The horned branches that lean
Heavily
Against a smooth purple

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damasked, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than

We are standing on the access road to Paradise.Seven miles from the gates. We are standingon the centerline, the moon on our faces, the mountainat our backs. Were it less than full, we might see,in its northwest sector, the Land of

The sun isn’t even a pearl today—its light diffused, strained grayby winter haze—this the grayestday so far, so when I enter the WellsFargo parking lot the last thing I expectis to see the sun in the car next to mine.I watch a woman make out with the sun,and I’m jealous of

Crisply the bright snow whispered,Crunching beneath our feet;Behind us as we walked along the parkway,Our shadows danced,Fantastic shapes in vivid blue.Across the lake the skatersFlew to and fro,With sharp turns weavingA frail invisible net.In ecstasy the earth